


Match

by meansovermotive



Series: Birds of a feather [2]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, Feelings, First Kiss, Friendship/Love, Introspection, Late Night Conversations, Past Relationship(s), Post-Troubled Blood, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:43:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29596428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meansovermotive/pseuds/meansovermotive
Summary: "We two go with each other…" (Ibsen, Rosmersholm / LW Ch. 59, epigraph)Vanessa’s wedding prompts Strike and Robin to continue their conversation... this time in a proper heart-to-heart.Sequel to (Un)Common.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Series: Birds of a feather [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2175237
Comments: 26
Kudos: 57





	Match

**Author's Note:**

> So I didn't write the first fic with the idea of ever continuing, but...   
> This basically addresses the natural follow-up question: if they're so well matched, what does it mean for a romantic relationship- would it apply, too? (Can you guess the answer?)
> 
> Many thanks to eticatka and Jdfleming who first put the idea of a sequel in my head, and to BestMate(SilverCowGirl) for (unkowingly) giving me a nudge to write it!
> 
> Also huuuge thanks to HarrogateBelmont - for betaing this, for some insightful (and impactful heh..) comments in that first fic and since, and for the perfect title for this series!
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!

She found him, like he’d suspected she would, reclining against the balcony, his arms resting on the bannister, the bright tip of his cigarette against the night sky. Inside, the music raged loudly, but here, it was almost quiet, the muffled sound more like background noise.

She walked up to him and stopped, silently, her gaze on the white speckles ahead.

He looked down at her, wrinkles around his eyes, feeling as ever content with her presence.

“If it’s fresh air you’re after, I’m afraid you didn’t choose the best spot.”

She chuckled.

“Still feels better than inside, though.”

He blew smoke off away from her.

“Yeah.” He paused for a moment, glancing at her again. He had wondered whether any of it, the ceremony, the flowers, the promise of happiness, would cause her pain. “You okay?”

She let a small sigh.

“Yeah. Alright.”

But he still looked down at her, his brow slightly furrowed, and so she raised her head and gave him a small smile.

“I’m fine, really. It’s just… it’s the first wedding I attend, since. So it’s a little strange, is all. But I’m alright. Thanks, though.”

He nodded.

“Yeah. I figured.”

They were silent for a moment, looking at the city lights speckling the horizon.

“Do you regret it?”

He hadn’t intended for the words to leave his mouth; he wasn’t even sure that he had thought about them for a long time. It seemed like a moot point, now, anyway – even so, the moment they left his lips, he realized just how much he still wanted to know.

“Regret what?” Robin frowned up at him.

He looked away, taking a drag.

“Marrying him.”

“Oh,” Robin said, deeply surprised. He had never before, she thought, asked her something so personal. She pondered her reply for a long moment.

“I suppose that’s a difficult question to answer, now.” He swallowed, following her words. “On one hand… I do. Absolutely, with all my heart. But on another…” She paused. “At least I know, now, that I gave it all the possible chances I could, you know?” She looked up at him, and he nodded. “I know it was much more than he deserved, we deserved, but maybe if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be so sure, now.” She took a breath. “And I do like this peace of mind. It’s been sort of hell with everyone’s assumptions as it was. I can only imagine if things had been more blurred.”

He stared at her, intently, his cigarette forgotten. Realizing it was about to burn his finger, he threw it on the ground and stamped on it.

They were silent for a moment, before she added, “I do wish frequently I hadn’t gone through with it, though. Even if I’m not sure that I regret it.” She let a hollow laugh. “This must sound insane.”

“Not at all,” he said, taking another cigarette from his pocket. “It makes sense. The path not taken. Impossible to know.”

“Exactly,” she said. “You never really do.”

She smiled at him before looking ahead and speaking again, in a quieter voice.

“If circumstances had been different, perhaps… But what it’s done is done. No good brooding upon it.”

He took a deep breath, lightning his cigarette. There were many things, he knew, she could be alluding to: Had he not sacked her. Had his messages gone through. Had her new husband not fallen ill.

One of them hurt more deeply, though, as if often did when he thought about their hug in the stairs: _Come with me._ Had he asked…

“Not entirely true, perhaps,” he again surprised himself by saying.

She turned to him, curious.

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged.

“You can’t stay locked up in your mistakes, I agree with you there,” he said. “But they’re the ground for change, aren’t they? If you don’t pay attention to your mistakes, you won’t learn anything from them.”

Robin raised her eyebrows.

“Cormoran Strike, on the modus operandi for change. Who would imagine.”

He grinned.

“Told you, that day,” he said. “Someone exceptional made me realize change might be good.”

She smiled warmly at him.

“You’re right, of course. We shouldn’t get attached to our mistakes, but we shouldn’t gloss over them, either. It’s true.”

She breathed in the cold night air, pondering, her fingertips tapping against the bannister. She supposed she was entitled to a question, now, wasn’t she?

“What about you?” she asked, her voice slightly nervous. He looked at her, frowning, even if he was pretty sure what she was asking. “Do you ever regret… well…”

“With Charlotte, you mean,” he said, blowing off smoke. She nodded. His answer came in a firm, sure voice. “Yeah. I do.”

She studied him, feeling surprised at the certainty in his voice.

“I was blind, Robin,” he admitted, letting out a breath. “Never should have gone back to her that many times. It was a mistake that I wish I didn’t have to make, then.”

She swallowed, a little shaken at the regret visible in his voice.

“Well, at least you learned from it, however long it took.” She gave him a small smile, trying to comfort him, to dispel the sad expression in his face. “That’s what matters, right?” He tilted his head, not entirely sure, even if he had made that point himself moments ago. “I do know it can be hard to accept, though,” she added. “All that lost time.”

He let out a sad laugh, shaking his head vehemently. “See, it’s not the time,” he said, turning to her. What would he have done, anyway, with that extra time, before…? “It’s what it cost.”

Robin frowned, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“I danced a crazy person’s dance, Robin,” he said, his words leaving his mouth forcefully. “That comes with a cost; it doesn’t leave you unscathed. It takes things from you. Adds different, twisted things, in their place. That’s what I regret. Not what I lost of time; what I lost of myself.”

He seemed agitated, now; his cigarette, once again at its end, was thrown on the ground again and stomped on with even more intent.

Robin’s mouth had fallen open. He was touching on things he never had, before. Moreover, he was hinting at things she used to pretend didn’t tug a cord within her; a cord of something she couldn’t have named, so tight was the lid she kept on to avoid looking at it.

She closed her mouth and swallowed.

“Do you really believe that?” She asked. “You really think that… she ruined you?”

Strike didn’t look at her, passing his hands through his hair.

“I’m not sure, to be honest. I think that, if not, it was a close call.”

“Well,” she said. “I don’t believe that.” 

He turned to her, abruptly, and frowned, his eyes dancing in expectation of what she meant.

“I know you, Cormoran,” she said simply. “You’re way too good a man to be truly ruined.”

Her smile was so sincere and gentle that it made his heart ache.

He quickly shook his head, though. As much as her words were a balm, he knew they were undeserved.

“Not the same thing, though.”

She frowned, her expression serious. He carried on.

“I—It’s different, you know it is. You don’t really know me in… that way,” he admitted, in a quiet voice.

Robin was taken aback. His words were true, she knew that; still, they sounded harsher than what she would expect from him, harsher than, she knew, he intended. She felt hurt by them. 

No, she didn’t know him _that way_. That much was true. Hadn’t this precise fact made her wonder, before, when she heard Ilsa’s accounts of his relationship with Charlotte?

Hadn’t she wondered, in the back of her mind, what he was like as a different kind of partner, how much of all those horrible stories had been his fault, whether it was indeed possible that he could be a totally different person in a closer relationship?

Could it be, perhaps, that the reason she was hurt was because he was in a way confirming those thoughts, those fears she kept at bay by telling herself that they didn’t really concern her?

And at that moment, she knew what it was that she’d been unable to name all this time, for it didn’t reconcile with what she believed about him. It was a vague, but unmistakable fear, the kind that arises not from what is there, but from what is not; that arises from having to fill in the blanks yourself.

No, she didn’t know him _that way_. Wasn’t that precisely the problem?

Her gaze was clear and focused on his.

“Were you _really_ a totally different person with her, Cormoran?”

Strike thought of his words to her in the Land Rover, that day, and her response; of the sense of closeness that had been developing between them. He knew what the stakes were, what she was really asking. He knew, even if he was, in principle, a man of truth, how easy it would be to lie, to take the guilt off his shoulders. But he didn’t want to, and not out of a sense of obligation, either; he felt no inclination to.

It struck him how, even while knowing all of that, he didn’t want at all to fall into the all too common habit of showing your best side as a selling point. He felt compelled to tell the truth, to admit to this vulnerability and weakness, to let her shine a light into this darkness, perhaps in the hopes that it might make him see there was nothing really there.

“I made mistakes, Robin,” he admitted with a sigh. “Too many. She did horrible things, and I went along with them. I shouted back, I took pleasure in the fights -- in hurting her, sometimes, with my words, with my silence. I played her games, and excelled at them. It’s not that I was a different man, but I was at my worst -- I discovered how deep ‘my worst’ really went.” He paused, before adding in a regretful voice. “I know I hurt her, many times. And, I never, ever apologized for any of it.”

Robin breathed.

Somehow, hearing him spill all her fears made them seem less real. How real could they be, when he admitted to them with such honesty?

And how much of them, she asked herself honestly, had been serving as yet another wall between them?

She gazed at him, her eyes serious but kind.

“You should give yourself some credit, Cormoran." He raised his eyebrows at her. "Mistakes are the ground for change, if you're paying attention," she continued. "And actually putting the work to change yourself is... exceptional. Or so I'm told."

He frowned at her, confused.

"You’ve apologized to me before.”

Strike widened his eyes, understanding reaching him. He felt unreasonably touched by her words. 

“Yeah, I have,” he said, in a low voice. “Even if I’m an arse sometimes…” he grinned sadly. “Guess I’m not at my absolute worst with you.” 

“Told you. Not ruined.” She smiled at him, and the ease with which she did told her that it was true; what she’d known in her heart had indeed been right.

He, however, shook his head.

“No,” he said, then nodded in her direction. “Your merit, that.”

“It’s not my merit, Cormoran,” Robin said firmly, shaking her head, too. “It’s just a matter of being well matched, I think. There’s people who bring out the worst off each other, and there’s people who bring out the best.”

He considered her for a moment.

“And you’re sure that we’re the latter?”

She nodded decidedly. “Yes, I am. From experience. You also had a very positive influence on me, you know.”

He nodded, silently, and breathed for a moment before continuing.

“So you think that we’re… well matched. As people.”

Robin swallowed. She hadn’t precisely meant _that_ – although, she hadn’t _not meant_ it either – but she sensed she could hardly take it back now.

“Well, I mean,” she started. “Wasn’t that the conclusion we arrived at the other day? That we get along because we share the important things?”

Strike smiled at her.

“Yeah,” he said. “You’re right. We did indeed.”

They were silent for a moment, ostensibly watching the sky. In truth, both were studying their next move.

“Is that true in absolute terms, do you think?” Robin asked thoughtfully, staring ahead. “Like, it’s either true across the board, or not at all?” Her voice sounded nervous.

“Do you mean…” he started, unsure.

“I mean,” she said, turning to him. “People who are well suited as business partners, will be well suited as friends, will be well suited as…” she trailed off, swallowing.

Strike stared at her.

“You mean, in general,” he asked, “or…?”

“Both.”

He rubbed his stub, thinking.

“In general, I don’t think it’s an all or nothing thing,” he said. “I’ve got many a friend with whom I’m sure a business partnership would be disastrous.” He grinned, and she nodded. “But then again, I’m not better friends with anyone else, am I?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

 _My best mate...is you._ Robin swallowed.

“And so, specifically…”

“Specifically,” he said, his voice low. “That would mean... yes. Across the board.” He held her gaze for a long minute.

Then she shivered, bracing herself against the cold, and he broke eye contact to take off his suit jacket to give to her. He expected her to protest, but she didn’t.

She settled inside the enormous jacket, and closed her eyes for a moment.

“Better?” he asked, grinning.

She nodded, a faint blush in her cheeks.

He looked down at her for a moment, then turned his eyes in the opposite direction, towards the ballroom in which they could see people dancing.

“Wonder what it says about us,” said Robin, glancing at him.

He chuckled.

“It says we have better company.”

She looked at him for a moment, before turning to the party again. There was something different about the air between them, just now, and Strike felt his heart rate pick up. They were close to the subject, he thought; so close, he felt all he had to do was stretch his fingers and reach it…

“What did you mean that day, Cormoran?” she asked, her voice so quiet he barely heard.

Her question was vague, but he had no doubts as to what she was referring to.

_Maybe, we might not need to…_

“Do you really not know?” he asked carefully, trying to keep his voice steady.

“I might,” she said. He looked down at her. Her eyes said, _but I need to hear it._

He took a deep breath.

“Robin...I told you, that day, that I didn’t expect to find this,” he said, gesturing between them, “with anyone else. You said you found the idea sad.” He paused for a moment, before continuing in a serious voice. “I don’t find it sad, Robin. I don’t… I don’t need anyone else.” He swallowed. “I meant what I said. For me,” he finally said, “It is…all of it. It is… across the board.”

Robin stared at him, her mouth slightly open, tears prickling in the corner of her eyes.

“Oh, Cormoran,” she said. “When I said that…” she started, quietly, looking away. “I didn’t…” she let out a breath, and looked up at him again. The truth, at last free of her tight reign, finally rose to the surface, unbidden. “I never let myself consider that, Cormoran. _That._ But it’s true. Of course it is. It’s like that for me, too,” she admitted, and swallowed. “I just didn’t know what to do with it…” she trailed off, her voice breaking a little in the end.

He looked at her fondly, reaching to put a lock of hair behind her ear. His hand stayed where it was, him grazing her cheek with his finger. Then he took a small step forward, facing her. Robin looked up at him; his eyes were asking a silent question. For a moment she thought she might just answer it, and she took a step closer too, resting her hand in his chest. But...

“Aren’t you afraid it might not work?” she heard the words leave her mouth. The music was louder, but they were so close, now, that it didn’t matter.

Strike took a breath, and her hand followed the movement of his chest.

“I have, to be honest,” he responded. “In the past. But then…” He paused for a moment. “There’s two things I care about, above all, Robin,” he continued in a sure voice. “The work… and you.” He looked at her intently, her eyes now widened. “I know neither will keep me from the other. What else can I ask for?”

She wiped a tear in the corner of her eye, and nodded. Then she leant forward and kissed him.

It was a short and delicate kiss, and they stayed as they were for a moment after parting, then she slid her hand to his back, and he opened his arm slightly, and she reached for him, hugging him tightly. He hugged her back, resting his chin on the top of her head.

He took a deep breath and wondered if he was imagining the smell of roses.

“Never imagined,” he said, “I’d ever be so lucky.”

“Is that what this is?” she asked into his chest, moving her thumb back and forth absently against the fabric of his shirt. 

Strike looked down at her, frowning.

“I, too, told myself I’d never let anything stand between me and the job, again,” she continued. “And with you…I just know it never will.” She took a deep breath. “Is that luck? Coincidence? Or are we just being pragmatists by choosing one another?” She looked up at him now, her brow furrowed. “ _Are_ we jaded, Cormoran?” 

Strike considered her question. He felt, at that moment, like he didn’t care too much either way. But he could see that she did, so he responded sincerely.

“I guess that depends,” he said. “Would you choose this…because of our connection with the job?” He rubbed her back through his jacket. “Or despite of it?”

She was silent for a long moment, her eyes distant. When she responded, she found her answer surprised even herself.

“Neither.”

He looked down at her, frowning.

“Neither?”

She shook her head, biting her lip.

“It’s neither because… nor despite it,” she said, looking up at him, her heart feeling suddenly lighter. “It just... is. It’s just...right.” 

She stood still for a moment, looking into his eyes, then lowered her head and rested it in his chest again.

“It’s just right,” he repeated, like he was testing how the words felt in his tongue.

He felt her nod against his chest.

Then he broke into a wide, hopeful smile. 

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of notes:  
> I feel like the theme of Robin being worried about what Strike would be like in a relationship is not very popular in fics, somehow. But it is something that makes sense to me and that, realistically, I would expect to happen... I think it might pop up.  
> My take is basically the one here: Robin knows the answer to her fears, but she might not realize yet that she does.
> 
> Also, the ending is my response to something that bothered me quite a bit with the Tolstoy's thing in TB. Yes, I do like and understand it, but it did rub me a bit in the wrong way, basically with Robin's final question - is Strike choosing her because it makes the job easier for him? For me it does kind of imply that, at least for now, and I certainly don't think it's true. What I think is true is closer to what I aimed at here - their bond is just something that makes sense. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed it and that it made sense to you!


End file.
